Ghostmaker
by KoteSkirata
Summary: Sequel to 18 Paper Airplanes, because the ideas just wouldn't leave me alone. The continuation of Erian's story, and maybe a look into her past.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everyone. This is a sequel to 18 Paper Airplanes, so if you haven't read that, I suggest you do before proceeding. I couldn't get Erian out of my head, and lots of people liked her, so here we are.**

**The chapters are short because I didn't write it for a chapter format. I don't know how long this will end up being, or how often I'll be able to update, but stick with me. I hope you like it. We'll learn some new things about Erian this time.  
**

**And before I forget, again - This is dedicated to the real Kirbee, who leaned over my shoulder while I was writing and said, "Put me in it. Make me die."  
**

**Disclaimer: I own only Erian.**

**Enjoy!**

**K.S.**

Erian was irritated. She knew what Barton would do right now – he would nest somewhere, probably the roof or the rafters. But she wasn't Barton, and nesting held no appeal for her. It was too much work to take the ceiling panels down and climb into the ceiling.

So Erian stayed where she was, sitting on the floor between the bed and the wall. SHEILD had given her a perfectly nice set of rooms, just down the hall from Barton's, in fact. But she couldn't get comfortable, couldn't relax.

She couldn't let her guard down. Erian hugged her knees a little closer to her chest and rested her chin on her folded hands. Director Fury was not happy with Barton for bringing Erian in, but Barton had been right when he said SHIELD would put up with a lot from their best agent.

And here Erian was, sitting alone in her darkened room, waiting. For what, she couldn't have said, but she knew she was waiting. And finally, there was a knock on the door, and Erian smiled.

"It's open," she called softly, and Barton opened the door.

He glanced around the darkened room, and asked, "Where are you?"

Erian stood up, rising out of the small space between the bed and the wall. "Over here."

Barton smiled when he saw her. "Nice hiding spot."

Erian gave him an irritated look. "I wasn't hiding. I was thinking."

He nodded apologetically, and walked across the room. Erian perched on the edge of the bed, looking at the wall instead of Barton.

He sat down on the other side of the bed, and Erian felt him watching her. Before she became tempted to snap at him, Barton said, "I've just been yelled at, again, for bringing you in."

Erian pointedly ignored him, studying the wall as she replied, "What else is new?"

Barton shrugged. "Nothing, really." He studied her for a moment, and Erian felt the weight of his gaze. She refused to look at him, and he finally added, "They're making you an official agent."

Erian laughed. "How can I be an official agent of an organization that, _officially_, doesn't exist?  
Barton shrugged, and she finally turned around to look at him. Erian paused at the look in his eyes, and he said quietly, "Are you angry with me again?"

She shook her head. "Not specifically."

He rolled his eyes. "Very well. Sulk. I'll be . . . doing something."

Erian raised an eyebrow. "Keeping secrets, Clint?"

Barton smiled. "No, just can't think of anything to do."

She caught herself smiling back as he left.


	2. Chapter 2

Erian didn't nest, it was true. But she did like high places, and she couldn't sleep.

She walked the halls of the helicarrier at three in the morning, and no one bothered her. Somehow, every member of the sparse night crew already knew Erian's face, and her alter-identity.

No one dared interfere with the Ghostmaker, and she walked undisturbed.

Eventually, she ran out of hallway, and found herself on the flight deck. Erian didn't want to be outside – it was _cold_, and the wind was whipping her hair into her face.

But she had nowhere else to go.

So Erian found a quiet corner where the wind wasn't quite as fierce, and sat down in the darkness, wrapping her arms around her knees. She stared out into the cold night, and watched the blinking lights of jets taking off and landing, the sound muffled into silence by the wind.

_Can I wish on an airplane_? Erian wondered. _What would I wish for?_

_What _would _I wish for?_


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning saw Erian curled up in her bed, wrapped in every blanket she'd been able to find. Two hot showers and a cup of tea had failed to chase away the chill of the night, and she could still see the airplane lights when she closed her eyes.

_What is it with me and airplanes? They seem to be following me around._

Her feet were especially cold. Erian was wearing three pairs of socks and it wasn't helping. She shivered under the blankets, wanting to curl up smaller, but trying not to touch her own skin, because she was _freezing._

Erian heard the knocks at the door, and stifled a moan. She knew it was Barton, because no one else would knock on the Ghostmaker's door, not unless they absolutely had to. They left her well enough alone, and she liked it that way.

She considered throwing a knife at the door in answer, but decided against it.

Instead, Erian dug herself out of her blanket tangle and pulled on some actual clothes, instead of random sweats and a t-shirt. She wandered over to the door as her visitor knocked again. Erian unlocked the door and pulled it open to see, as she'd expected, Barton.

"What?" she demanded.

Barton smiled at her. "Good morning to you too. Always a pleasure."

Erian glared at him, contemplating the lack of feeling in her feet and wondering if she should just hit him already and get it over with. Barton added, "We have a mission."

Erian blinked. _What, already? It's only been a day or two._ "What do you mean, _we?_"

Barton shrugged. "They decided to send both of us. Not my fault, really."

She sighed, and looked down at the floor. "All right. Give me a few minutes."

Erian closed the door, and shook her head. _I don't want him for a partner. I work alone. _She moved slowly across the room, rubbing her arms to warm herself. Erian changed into more mission-worthy clothes, and took a moment to strap on her knives – all of them, some visible, most hidden. There were quite a few.

She opened the door to find Barton waiting for her. Erian drew in a breath, and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her. Barton led her down the hall, and she asked, "Where are we headed?"

Barton replied, "Prague. Simple stuff, really. Just take out the target. I'm your backup."

Erian glanced sideways at him. "I don't need backup."

He smiled. "I know. But Fury's into overkill."

She pressed her lips together. Erian had met Fury, and didn't like him much. He glared a lot and didn't seem to think Erian was worth her keep.

_I already knew that; he sent Barton to kill me, after all. Good thing I don't give a damn about Fury's opinion._

The jet was waiting for them. Erian walked up the ramp and took a seat, ignoring the pilot, ignoring the world. Barton sat across from her, and she closed her eyes, feeling the cold in her bones.

It was a short flight, at least for Erian. Barton showed her the target profile – some kind of weapons dealer that SHIELD had decided to eliminate. Erian had seen the type before, and she silently agreed with SHIELD's decision.

The jet set them down just outside of Prague, under cover of what was still darkness in that part of the world. Erian stepped out into the night and smiled. It was a good darkness to her – a hunter's darkness.

Barton tapped her shoulder, and Erian almost jumped. He silently handed her a radio ear bud. She looked at him for a moment, and thought about not taking it.

But Erian took the bug and put it on. Barton was her second chance, her last chance. She could live with inconveniences, in exchange for her last chance.

They walked into Prague, and Barton said, "Here's where we split up. I'll be on the roof above you. Call me if you get into trouble."

"Never happen," Erian replied, and Barton smiled before vanishing up a nearby fire escape. Erian had to smile as well, walking through the night and thinking about the last time she'd seen Barton climb a fire escape.

She made her way to the sidewalk in front of the target's current apartment. Erian smiled at the tourists who were enjoying an evening out, and even gave directions in flawless Czech. After a few minutes, Barton's voice came over her radio.

"You're good. He's alone."

Erian was moving before she remembered to respond – she wasn't used to having a partner. "I'm inside," she breathed, silently closing the door behind her.

She moved through the rooms with practiced silence, feet padding lightly across the floors. Erian could see her target, sitting with his back to her in a low-backed chair.

Erian smiled. _Poor choice of furniture._ In a single motion, she drew a knife and threw it.

Her target collapsed without a sound, dead. The Ghostmaker calmly walked up to the corpse and retrieved her knife. She paused for a moment, then leaned over and kissed the dead man's cheek.

_Just because I work for SHIELD doesn't mean I have to give up my trademark._

"Target is dead. Mission accomplished. I'm coming out the back."

Barton said in surprise, "That was fast."

Erian smiled. "That's because I'm the best. Now let's get out of here, I'm freezing."

**That's all I have for now, but reviews make me write faster. Take the hint. I love reviews very much, so leave me one, even if it's just a smiley face.**

**K.S.**


	4. Chapter 4

Erian was still cold, and now she couldn't sleep, either. She wasn't sure why, but the image of her target collapsing, dead with her knife in his back, kept returning to her.

She ran a hand through her hair and turned up the volume on her iPod. Erian cast a disinterested glance at the muted television, and rolled over in her bed. She stared blankly at the patterns of light the TV cast on the walls, and closed her eyes.

There was a knock on the door. Erian sighed.

_Now what, Barton?_

As she climbed out of bed and headed for the door, Barton's voice called, "Erian, are you awake?"

"No." She opened the door and blinked at him. Barton looked about as tired as she felt.

He looked her up and down, and asked, "Can't sleep?"

Erian frowned at him. "What's it to you?"

Barton shrugged. "Just checking in. Try instrumental music."

Erian shook her head. "How many times do I have to tell you, Barton? I'm not a lost puppy. I don't need to be taken care of."

She closed the door on him, and went back to bed. Erian was tired and irritated and not in the mood to be nice. But she still couldn't sleep.

_Instrumental music, huh?_

Erian scrolled through the libraries on her iPod. All she could find was an old Mannheim Steamroller album, so she put it on shuffle and closed her eyes.

_Drums. Drums, beating, pounding in her blood. And trumpets whose clarion call was like an accusing shout, and bells – there were bells whose voices rang through her mind like pursuing footsteps._

_ She was fifteen again, with her hair cropped short and her heart racing as she fled through the midnight streets. Midnight was a strange time for her, for only minutes had passed, and yet the body in the field was already yesterday's memory, and the blood-stained knife her only reality._

_ The knife. What had she done with the knife?_

Erian came awake with a gasp, shock vibrating in her bones as the dream was shattered by the quiet thunder of knocks at the door. She glanced about her, and saw the iPod, still playing its music despite the fact that she'd ripped out her ear buds while asleep. Erian picked it up with trembling hands, and saw the song title before powering it off.

The Carol of the Bells. _Never again. Instrumental music, my foot._

She calmed her panicky breathing, and shuddered a little as she remembered her dream. She glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to be lurking in corner, but she was alone with the flickering television.

Erian knew exactly what she'd done with the knife.

The knocking came again, and she got out of bed, straightening her t-shirt. Predictably, Barton was on the other side of the door when Erian opened it. Judging by the state of his hair, he'd just woken up.

And he looked worried. "You all right?" Barton asked.

Erian looked anywhere but his eyes. "I'm fine. Why?"

He was still looking at her. "I heard you shout."

_Crap._ She didn't know she'd made any noise. Erian took a breath, and said, "You must have heard something else. It wasn't me." She couldn't look at his face.

Barton was silent for a moment before he said, "All right. Goodnight, Erian."

She glanced up at him for an instant, and was frozen by the look in his eyes. Barton was worried about her. Erian knew she should have been angry, should have told him again that she didn't need to be taken care of, but . . .

But it was sweet of him to come check.

Erian closed the door, turned around, and leaned against it, closing her eyes. Her hands were shaking, and she wondered if Barton had noticed.

She opened her eyes and decided to make tea. Erian wouldn't be sleeping any more tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning hit Erian hard, like a freight train that had jumped the tracks. She sat alone in the cafeteria, nursing a cup of inferior tea and consuming remarkable amounts of food.

Erian was really, really hungry. She'd been up all night, and was lucky enough to have found a movie adaptation of The Sound of Music on her TV. Erian loved The Sound of Music. She liked stories about overcoming the odds and making a safe escape.

Especially the part about making a safe escape.

She watched the other people in the cafeteria avoid her. Erian smiled. She liked it when others kept their distance. It gave her space to breathe. And if she never got too close, she never had to worry about betrayal.

The smile faded, and Erian looked down at the knife she'd been using to butter a toasted bagel. Her fingers tightened convulsively, and she sighed.

_Stupid girl. She didn't have to die. She didn't have to . . . betray me._

Erian stabbed her sausage viciously, and continued eating, suddenly very glad that no one would come within six feet of her. She didn't particularly want to lose her temper and kill a crew member.

That dream had messed her up. Erian understood that, and knew that she shouldn't be quite as angry and paranoid as she was feeling, but –

But. That was all there was to say.


	6. Chapter 6

Erian discovered the target range later that day. It was meant for weapons more along the lines of guns, but she didn't care. Erian liked knives.

She managed to get the range to herself by sitting just inside the door glaring at people until they left. And no one else was likely to enter if they had to walk past an angry Ghostmaker.

Erian was wearing about a dozen knives on her person at the time, and took great pleasure in embedding them in the targets. She hadn't practiced knife throwing in a while, and it felt good.

It took her a while to notice that she was no longer alone, and when she did, Erian nearly put a knife in Barton's eye before she realized it was him.

"Barton! What the hell are you doing?"

He was, in fact, doing the same thing as she was – target practice. Barton regarded her calmly, knocking another arrow to his bow. "Shooting," he replied.

Erian took a deep breath to collect herself, and said sharply, "I could have killed you."

Barton smiled. "I know. I'm glad you didn't."

She chose to ignore him, and resumed puncturing her target. But the _thwack _of his arrows into the next target over kept distracting her. Eventually, Erian found herself standing frozen, knife balanced across her fingers, watching Barton shoot.

She'd never seen him shoot, not really. Erian knew he had a great arm with paper airplanes, and he'd once pinned her to the wall with an arrow, but she'd never actually stood and watched him shoot.

Erian wished she'd done it earlier, because he was amazing. Half the time, Barton didn't even bother to look at his target – or targets. He was using more than one, sometimes spinning to pin every target in the room, except the one Erian was using.

And he was lost in it, completely oblivious to her. Erian was a bit disconcerted; she'd grown used to Barton paying attention to her every move.

_Ignore it. This is good. Maybe he'll quit treating me like a stray kitten now._

But she couldn't ignore it. Erian went back to her target practice, but no matter how cleanly the knives left her hands, they never went quite where she wanted them to. That hadn't happened to Erian in years, and she didn't like it.

The final straw came when she cut herself on one of her throws. Erian yelped, swallowing a string of curses that were all too ready to boil out of her mouth. She felt Barton pause, and notice her again, turning his head to see her.

Erian ignored him, putting her hand to her mouth to suck the blood off her fingers. It was an unimportant cut, posing no danger, but it hurt.

She heard Barton take a breath to ask a question, and Erian whipped her head around to stare him down. Barton raised an eyebrow at the look on her face, and shrugged, returning to his practice.

Erian breathed deeply, and glanced down at the sweat on her hands. Time to stop – past time to stop, actually. She gathered her knives from the target and tucked them into her clothing, concealing them once again. And Erian watched Barton, who was back to his all-excluding focus.

She left without him, telling herself she wasn't running away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey, everyone. Seems I've forgotten to do this for a while, so I'd better thank my reviewers:**

**Theta-McBride: You make me smile.**

**Lederra: Glad you like it.**

**Shyloh1234: I missed you too. I'm glad to see you got an account.**

**And now, enjoy!**

**K.S.**

Erian had a free day, and spent it sleeping. She left the lights on.

She dreamed about Kirbee.

Erian woke up with a gasp, remembering laughing blue eyes and red curls, red like blood . . .

Blood . . .

She scrambled out of bed, wrapping a blanket around herself and glancing at the clock. It was late, nearly ten o'clock – PM. Erian reached for the television remote, changed her mind, and sat down on the edge of the bed. She fumbled with the switches on the clock, finally turning on the radio.

Erian listened to the music for a moment, some sort of warbling jazz singer that couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. She switched the radio off, not wanting to bother changing channels. Erian tapped her fingers on her leg, unconsciously finding the rhythm of one of her favorite show tunes.

She glanced at the ceiling, paused, and looked again. Erian stood, retrieving a chair from her small kitchen. She stood on the chair, and lifted a ceiling panel out of place.

Erian looked around at the vents, pipes, and metal framework that provided hidden access to her rooms. She was familiar with Barton's habits of lurking in high places – especially ceilings.

Fortunately, she knew how to defend against such measures. And her suspicions faded away as Erian saw that all the mousetraps were still in place.

She put the ceiling panel back, and put the chair away. Erian paced her rooms for a few minutes, fingers twitching. Faint sounds from the bathroom made her drop a knife out of her sleeve and throw it, embedding the blade in the bathroom door.

It was only a dripping faucet. Erian shut the water off and retrieved her knife, feeling sweat drip down her neck.

She was going out of her mind. Erian could feel the madness creeping up on her.

Erian shook her head, hard, and went to the door. She looked out into the deserted hallway, and almost changed her mind. But – she didn't know what else to do.

Approximately three minutes later, Erian knocked on Barton's door, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She wondered if he would answer. She wondered if he was even still awake.

She was about to change her mind, walk away, no matter what the consequences, when Barton opened the door. He blinked at her, and Erian was relieved to see that there was no sleep in his eyes.

"Erian?" he smiled a little, sort of a half-way, worried smile. "You all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

It was the irony that did it for her – she hadn't meant to say anything about the nightmares, hadn't meant to bring Kirbee up again, but when Barton said _ghost_, it broke something inside her.

"I have," Erian said softly. "My first one." She hesitated for a moment, almost scared, almost running away, almost – almost –

"Clint, can I come in? Please?"

She almost forgot to say please. What would her mother think?

Barton's storm-colored eyes were steady, and his gaze steadied something inside her. "Of course. Come on in."

_I don't have a mother. Not anymore. I'm all alone._

_ That's how it's supposed to be. I'm the Ghostmaker._

But as she walked past Barton's welcoming gesture, walked into the bright glow of his rooms and the inane chatter of the television, she wanted to be more than just the Ghostmaker.

_I am more. I'm Erian. I'm both._

_ How can I be both?_

Barton sat down in an armchair, waving her towards the couch. He picked up the remote and put the TV on mute, leaning forward to ask softly, "Is this about Kirbee?"

Erian shuddered, sitting down a little too fast. "Don't say her name. Please."

He nodded. "Sorry."

They were silent for a long moment, Erian looking at the TV to avoid looking at Barton. He was waiting for her to speak, she knew that. Barton had chased her around from the first day, the first paper airplane. Now he was letting Erian come to him, at her own pace, on her own time.

Why couldn't she speak?

It took another long ten minutes before Erian blurted, "What movie is this?"

Barton leaned back, crossing his legs. "Men in Black. You've never seen it?"

Erian shook her head. "I've not had much time for movies," she said softly.

He smiled a little, picking up the remote. "Well, then – let's see if you like it, shall we?"

She hadn't just sat and watched a movie in forever. Erian sometimes watched video adaptations of musicals, but that was different. That was culture, that was art. This was –

This was chaos, explosions, bad humor, extravagant acting. This was fun.

Erian cast a sideways glance at Barton, who seemed to be absorbed in the movie. She smiled, just a little, and turned her attention back to the television.


	8. Chapter 8

Morning was easier the next day. Erian rolled over to swat her alarm clock, smiling as she remembered her dreams – all about aliens and explosions. She'd finally left Barton's rooms at about one in the morning, because it was a Men in Black marathon and she was actually enjoying herself.

And Barton hadn't seemed to be in any kind of hurry to kick her out.

Erian fished about in her closet for something to wear, finally settling on black jeans and a red blouse. She paused when she saw her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

She looked happy.

Erian blinked dark eyes at herself, and picked up a hairbrush. She loved her brown and gold hair, really, but it was in her way. Time for a braid.

She was finished dressing, braided her hair, and went to breakfast. Once again, Erian was given a considerable berth, but she didn't mind. She even smiled at the cook who dished the eggs. This caused a good half of Erian's scrambled eggs to spill off the plate when the cook's jaw dropped, but that was all right.

Erian wasn't sure why she was so happy. But when Barton appeared at her table with his breakfast tray, she used her foot to push out a chair for him.

Apparently corny action movies were good for her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi, all. Wow, Theta-McBride, that was a fast review. I appreciate it. And I'm absolutely floored that you think my writing is amazing. ;)**

**Why is it easier to show my artistry to complete strangers than to my family?**

**Well, I'm glad to think that some of you aren't complete strangers any longer.**

**Enjoy!**

**K.S.**

They had a mission briefing that afternoon. Fury actually decided to speak to Erian, which she found amusing.

He dropped the files on the table, one copy for her, one copy for Barton. Erian didn't pick hers up.

Fury said, "This is an undercover operation. Ross, you'll be the bait. Barton, you take out the target when she brings him into the open."

Erian asked, "Just out of curiosity, who decided I'd make good bait?"

Fury turned that steely gaze on her, and Erian swallowed a smile. "You're an all-purpose player, Miss Ross," he replied. "It's in your job description."

She didn't say anything, but Erian did glance at Barton, and caught him hiding a smile.

Fury continued, "The set-up is a charity fundraiser in Vienna. Ross will go in a guest's partner, and drift away from her cover. You'll need to catch the target's attention and convince him to follow you outside, through the north doors. Barton will be in position on the roof of the building next to the balcony. As soon as you see the target, take him out."

Erian opened her mouth, and Barton asked her question. "Why not just have Erian knife him?"

Fury gave him a look that wasn't quite irritated, but plainly said, _Don't push it._ "That's for me to know. You have enough information to do your jobs. You ship out tomorrow at 1300 hours. Miss Ross, I suggest you find yourself a dress."

Erian calmly picked up her file and followed Barton out the door. As they walked down the hall, she glanced sideways at her partner and said, "Test?"

"Test," Barton agreed. "They've seen you take the kill, and now they want to know if you can give it up."

Erian rolled her eyes. "Of course I can. This is just a way to make things more risky. Fine. Whatever Fury wants, he shall have." A thought occurred to her, and she missed a step in her walk. "Oh, crap. I have to find a dress!"

Barton didn't bother to hide his laugh. Erian swatted him. "Shut up. You've never had to go dress shopping at the last minute."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Obviously. Is it really that stressful?"

Erian broke into a run, calling over her shoulder, "Let me put it this way – compared to finding a dress by tomorrow, assassination is relaxing!"


	10. Chapter 10

At approximately 1600 hours the next day, Erian emerged from the bathroom of a hotel room in Vienna, and asked, "How do I look?"

She immediately regretted it. _Never, never ask a man _that _question. Their vocabulary is entirely inadequate._

Barton confirmed her thoughts by glancing up from his bow to look her up and down and say, "Nice. You'll fit right in."

Erian shook her head and rolled her eyes, walking across the room to check her hair in the mirror. She was wearing a formal red dress, sleeveless with a fitted bodice and full ballroom skirt. Erian tucked an extra pin into her swept-up hair, and twirled a dangling curl around her finger. "Not bad," she decided, and glanced back at the mirror to see Barton watching her.

She hid a smile as she turned around. _No matter how eloquent the poets are, nothing says _You're beautiful _like silent admiration._

Either that, or Barton was just trying to figure out how many knives Erian was carrying.

_Focus. And probably pick up a few more knives._

Erian passed Barton to get to her duffel bag, pulling a few extra blades from the bag's depths. She could feel Barton's eyes on her, and wondered if she should comment.

_Probably._

"Stare a little harder, Clint. I might grow an extra head," Erian said, not turning around. She heard him change positions, and smiled.

"Won't you be cold? It's winter, after all."

She blinked. _Crap! _"Probably. I didn't think about that. I'll handle it." By which she meant, _Tough it out and hope it doesn't take too long for you to shoot the mark on the balcony._

Erian turned around to see Barton checking his watch. He stood, folding up his bow and stowing it in his 'briefcase'. "Time to go," Barton said, and Erian nodded, picking up her red high heels.

She walked barefoot to the car, and if Barton noticed, he didn't comment on it.

They made it to the charity event right one time – half an hour early. Barton took up position on his rooftop, while Erian located the guest that was convinced he'd somehow won a date with a foreign model.

Erian hadn't been too pleased with Fury when she'd read about that in her mission file.

Barton had thought it was hilarious.

Erian went in with her 'date', fashionably late. She walked effortlessly in her high heels, despite the fact that she'd . . . _modified _. . . them by placing actual stilettos in the heels.

You could never carry too many knives, after all. Especially when your partner was trying to figure out where you had put them all.

Erian had no trouble convincing her cover to drink himself under the table, and then she drifted away in not-entirely-faked distaste, eyeing her mark. He was eyeing her right back.

She gave him a smile, drifted _just _past him, kept walking . . . slowly . . . giving him time to follow . . . turned her head and crooked her finger at him, giving him the devil's smile . . .

And out the north doors, onto the balcony. He followed her, exactly as Erian had known he would. She wasn't exactly fond of playing bait, but she was awfully good at it.

She'd done it too many times before, in order to get a mark alone. Witnesses were not something you wanted when you were your own cleanup crew.

Erian turned to face her mark, smiling mischievously and leaning back on the balustrade, tossing her head to make her curls dance. She didn't have to wait long. Just as the target took a step toward her and opened his mouth, there was a faint whistling sound, and an arrow flashed out of the night.

The target keeled over slowly, very much dead with Barton's arrow in his chest. Erian stood up, stretched, and took off her shoes. It was freezing on the balcony, and she wasted no time in retrieving Barton's arrow, and vaulting over the balustrade.

Barton had put an arrow for her earlier, one with a grappling line attached. Erian rapidly climbed down to ground level, meeting Barton at the bottom.

All of a sudden, she wished she hadn't just climbed down a rope, in a skirt, in front of her partner.

"All good?" Barton asked, and Erian nodded, handing him the killing arrow.

"Good to go," Erian replied, and froze in surprise as he took off his black jacket and draped it over her bare shoulders. She blinked at Barton, who calmly took the arrow out of her hand, wiped it on his shirt, and put it back in his quiver.

"Let's go, then," Barton said, and Erian followed him to their arranged pickup site. She pulled his jacket close around her, and smiled at the warmth.

Erian had missed that particular warmth. She'd missed it a lot.


	11. Chapter 11

Erian didn't have a chance to not be able to sleep. It was after midnight by the time she got back to her room on the helicarrier, and she'd only just changed into her favorite blue nightgown when there was a knock on the door.

She was smiling before she opened it. Erian's eyebrows jumped when she saw Barton standing there, with a movie box and a chocolate box in one hand.

"Hey," he said, "Up for a movie night? I brought _Casablanca_, and chocolate."

Erian folded her arms, unable to keep the smile off her face. "Raspberry or peppermint?"

Barton took his other hand out from behind his back, revealing another box. "Both."

She laughed, and replied, "You know me so well. I'd love a movie night." But as Erian turned on the television, her smile melted away, and worry took its place.

Something had gone wrong. Barton had desperation in his eyes, hidden, but real. Erian wasn't about to turn down his appeal for help – it was exactly the opposite of what she'd done so recently.

Not wanting to be alone.

_Casablanca _was Erian's favorite for a reason, and the chocolates were excellent. She found relaxation easily as she sat curled up on the couch next to Barton. It took him longer to calm down – his fingers kept twitching, and every so often he'd turn his head to look around the room.

After a while, Erian decided to ignore her partner's nerves. If she acted like there was nothing to be anxious about, maybe Barton's nervousness would ease.

Since she had no idea what else to do.

Eventually, it worked. Barton slowly relaxed, and Erian smiled as she kept her gaze fixed on Rick and Ilsa's argument. She could feel Barton settling down from whatever high place had trapped him with the man he'd killed earlier.

She knew exactly how he felt. Erian watched the rest of the movie without looking at him, letting Barton sense that everything was normal. Normalcy was important when you were escaping after-mission panic – it let you know that no one else expected a monster to jump out of the shadows, so you probably shouldn't expect it, either.

But when the movie ended, Erian was still surprised to see that her partner had fallen asleep. She'd never seen Barton sleeping before, and something in her eyes softened a little. He looked – troubled.

Erian switched off the television and pulled a blanket over Barton. She climbed into her bed, and looked at him one more time before turning off the lights.

She looked up at the shadows on the ceiling, and thought. _Once, I wouldn't have let him stay. Once, I wouldn't have let him in at all._

_ But that was before he gave me a life where I don't have to look over my shoulder. A life where he watches my back, so I don't have to._

_ Only fair that I watch his back in return._


	12. Chapter 12

**All my reviewers are amazing. I am stunned by the responses to this story. It's even more popular than my series with all the Avengers in it. I'm sort of in shock, I think. Fortunately, I write better in shock, so keep them coming. ;)**

**Enjoy!**

**K.S.**

Erian hadn't expected to have nightmares. And why would she? She had no guilt over her mission; she'd watched a good movie; and her partner was asleep on the couch across the room. So why would she have nightmares?  
She didn't know why. But _why _wasn't important in Erian's nightmares, only the fact that they were happening at all.

_Blood. Blood, everywhere, on the knife, on her hands, on Kirbee's shirt, on Kirbee's face, everywhere. . . _

_ Too much blood._

_ She'd killed Kirbee. Of course she had, she'd meant to – no, no she hadn't! She hadn't wanted Kirbee dead, just to stop her – keep her from telling –_

_ She ran, blood dripping from her fingertips. She fumbled in her pocket for the masking tape she always carried – she was just trying to look cool, just to look cool, she'd never meant to use the knife –_

_ She knew what to do, she'd seen it all on TV – much too violent, television – she had to get rid of the knife –_

"Erian! Wake up!"

She was screaming, slapping Barton's hands away from her, reaching for her knives, but freezing when she saw him. _"Don't touch me!_" Erian gasped. "Blood – everywhere –"

Barton grabbed her head in his hands and made her look at him. "Erian. It's over. Whatever it was, it's over now. It was just a dream."

"No," she whispered. "No, it wasn't. It was my first kill. An accident . . ."

His eyes darkened, and Barton said softly, "Kirbee?"

Erian shuddered, and whispered, "Don't touch me." He let her go, and she sat up, shaking.

She looked at her partner and suddenly wanted very much for someone else to help her carry the weight of her memories. "Clint," Erian said softly, "I – I want to tell you . . . some of it . . ."

Barton was perched on the edge of her bed, worry in his face. "I'm right here," he replied, and Erian looked away.

"It was a play," she said softly, jerkily. The telling wasn't easy, not after so many years. Erian had thought she'd forgotten it all, but there it was, every detail, plain as day. "A play with the high school, a musical. I wanted the lead. So did another girl, and she was a better singer."

Erian closed her eyes, trembling. "I wanted it more than she did. More than anyone. More than I should have. She was allergic to nuts, and I knew where she always left her lunch when she went to get silverware. It was easy, really, I just put ground nuts in her sandwich, and she couldn't sing that night." Erian drew in a shaky breath, and felt Barton's hand on her shoulder.

"Kirbee found out," Erian whispered, and didn't say anything else.

Barton was quiet for a while, his hand on her shoulder. Erian could feel his warmth behind her, and almost wished he would move closer.

"I lost a brother," Barton said suddenly, surprising her. Erian turned her head to look at him, and found he wouldn't look at her. "In the circus. No, really. It's where I learned to shoot."

He didn't elaborate, and Erian didn't ask. Some things weren't meant to be shared.

And some things were. She glanced at the clock, and saw that it wasn't even four in the morning. Erian looked back at Barton, who was staring down at her bed and twisting the sheets between his fingers. He seemed to have forgotten his hand on her shoulder.

Erian reached out and grabbed his other hand, untangling the fabric from his grip. Barton looked up, surprised, and Erian said quietly, "Mangling my bedding won't help." She hesitated for a moment, and then made her choice. Neither of them wanted to be alone tonight, and apparently _across the room _wasn't close enough.

She tossed him a pillow. "Don't steal the blankets," Erian told him, and lay back down. Barton slowly followed, lying with his back to her. Erian bit her lip, and told herself firmly, _No more nightmares. Don't wake him up again._

Erian turned off the lights, and let the sound of her partner's breathing lull her to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Erian didn't really want to wake up. She was warm, and her pillow was soft, and she was so sleepy . . .

An arm reached over her to switch off the alarm clock, and Erian was suddenly _very _awake. Her brain scrambled to catch up, and it took her a moment to remember why there was someone else in her bed.

Barton. Nightmares. Barton. Sleep.

Right.

She turned her head to look at him, and smiled. Barton's eyes were still closed, and he said, "Are you going to get up?"

Erian replied, "Probably." She still didn't want to get out of bed, but it was much less appealing now that she remembered that her partner was in it. Erian rolled out of bed, and blinked bleary eyes.

She shook her hair out of her face, yawned, and went in search of clothing. By the time Erian got out of the shower, Barton was gone.

Erian started to make the bed, and stopped. Sitting on her pillow was a paper aiplane, folded out of a napkin. She smiled as she unfolded it, remembering the last time she'd gotten an airplane from Barton.

_Thank you._

"Anytime," Erian said softly, knowing he couldn't hear her. "Anytime."

**This one's way short, I know, I'll write more tomorrow. Right now, I'm going to cultivate sleep.**

**K.S.**


	14. Chapter 14

That afternoon, Erian started writing poetry.

She used to write poetry all the time. It used to be her hobby. But she'd run out of time to write, after that awful night when she was fifteen . . . when . . .

_Don't think about it. Focus on your verse._

The poetry came better when Erian didn't think about it. Of course, that might have been because of where she was writing.

Erian looked up and smiled as another quinjet roared past, launching off the flight deck into the blue unknown. The wind whipped her hair around her face and threatened to steal the pages she wrote. Flight crews were calling orders and the sun was bright in Erian's eyes.

She wouldn't have it any other way. This was the best place for Erian to relax, and she didn't bother to think about why. It was bright and loud and chaotic, and not at all relaxing.

Which was probably why she loved it so much.

Erian smiled a little as she wrote. There was a sort of dreaminess in her head that she couldn't explain, and she felt compelled to write it all down. But to write it down wasn't enough – it had to be perfect. To express everything she felt that made her unable to keep the smile off her face.

Erian felt as if she could step off the edge of the helicarrier and fly. Not that she was going to try it, but still. It was a nice feeling.

And she was taking great care to avoid examining the origins of that feeling. Erian finished her poem, carefully adding a final flourish with her pen, and stared down at the paper for a moment.

_What are you, a teenager? Get a grip, Erian!_

She stood up and threw the entire dozen pages of poetry off the edge of the flight deck. The wind caught the papers and carried them toward the distant clouds, black words dancing in the sky.

Erian smiled again, and went inside.


	15. Chapter 15

It wouldn't leave her alone. Erian didn't know what _it _was, exactly, but it had her doing things she hadn't done in years.

She was surprised by how well her guitar had survived its time in storage. Erian hadn't touched the guitar in so long she thought she'd forgotten how to play. But she'd carried it around, locked in the case, ever since –

_Stop sign. Do not enter. Wrong way. U-turn permitted._

Right.

Erian cradled the guitar in her arms, eyes closed, fingers picking out a melody she'd never played before. It came easily, even more than the poetry had. She completely failed to notice what time it was, and didn't actually stop playing until Barton knocked on the door.

She jumped, grabbing hold of the guitar to keep it from hitting the floor. One hand went for a knife, but Erian stopped herself from automatically flinging a knife at the door.

Habits were great, until they became lethal.

Erian carefully set the guitar aside, and answered the knocking. As she'd guessed, it was Barton. He smiled at her, and said, "You're pretty good with that guitar. I didn't know you played."

She fought the urge to be embarrassed. Erian hadn't known anyone could hear her. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me."

Barton studied her for a moment, and replied, "That's for sure. Anyway, I just stopped by to tell you we have a mission briefing tomorrow."

Erian raised an eyebrow. "That was fast."

He shrugged. "I don't call them; I just take care of it." Barton gave her another smile, and added, "Goodnight."

_Don't go. Don't leave me alone. I don't want to sit up wondering if you're still awake. I don't want to have nightmares._

"Goodnight."

Erian closed the door, turned around, and put her back to it. She slowly slid down the door to sit on the ground. Erian pulled her knees up to her chest and folded her arms across her kneecaps, resting her chin on her wrist.

Her mind was a complete and total blank. Erian closed her eyes and quietly hummed a song she'd not heard since she was a very small child.

_I don't want to hear a love song . . . I got on this airplane just to fly . . ._

_ Make that helicarrier . . ._

_ Aw, shit._

__**Yes, I did notice that the chapters keep getting shorter. I apologize, but I'm at a bit of a slow spot in the idea flow. In other words, I'm scrambling to figure out how a few vague scenes in my head are going to turn into an organized story.**

**Whatever. I'll get it together. I usually do.**

**But reviews help a lot. ;)**

**K.S.**


	16. Chapter 16

"You will infiltrate the compound and destroy this system," Fury said, tapping his finger on the blueprint. "You will make your exit and meet the jet at this location. Check in with the pilot when you're on your way."

Fury looked at Erian and Barton, with his no-nonsense face on. "Are we clear?"

"Perfectly," Erian replied. Barton just nodded. Fury dismissed them, and the two assassins walked out the doors together.

As soon as Erian heard the hiss of the door seal, she looked at Barton. "What's this one about?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Not a test. I'm not sure. I think it's just to get us used to working together."

Erian bit her lip. _I'm already used to working with you._ "Probably not a bad idea. I'm going to pick up a few extra things from my room before I head up. See you there."

Barton nodded, and they separated at a corner. Erian made her way back to her rooms, and gathered more knives, tucking them into her clothing. She also strapped on her more obvious knife belts, the ones that criss-crossed her hips and her chest, giving her easy access to _way more_ blades.

Knives were easy to lose, so it paid to have a lot of them.

Erian met Barton on the flight deck, and they entered the jet. It was a long flight this time, so she strapped in and took a nap.

When she woke up, they were already in Spain. Erian didn't know exactly where they were going – but then, no one had all the pieces of this particular puzzle except Fury. That was all right. She didn't need to know everything to do her job, just the things that could kill her.

Erian and Barton disembarked, and moved through the dark toward the compound. It was simple in principle – infiltrate and destroy.

In practice, it was about to become extremely complicated.

They made it past the first set of guards, the electric fence, and the second set of guards. It was when they reached the surveillance center that they discovered the problem.

Erian pulled her knife out of one of the technicians who was supposed to be monitoring the cameras, and Barton said, "Take a look at this."

She leaned over his shoulder to look at the monitor, and frowned. "That's not right," Erian murmured. "There aren't supposed to be that many guards here."

Barton's eyes went cold as he cycled the monitor through various cameras. They all showed more guards than they should have.

"We've been set up," Barton said.

Erian's throat tightened. She blinked once, and replied, "Let's take care of it, then."

Barton gave her a quick smile, and they continued moving toward their target. Erian skulked around corners, knives ready in her hands. At a distance, she wasn't _quite _as fast as Barton was with that bow of his – but there was no one faster at close range.

They made it to the systems storage room, leaving a trail of bodies behind them. Erian was smiling. This came easy to her, this was effortless.

And it didn't require her to think too hard about her partner.

Barton put his back to the wall next to the door, and Erian kicked it open, ducking out of the way. Barton spun to cover the doorway, and dropped two inattentive guards almost instantly.

Erian moved past him into the room, quickly identifying the system they were supposed to destroy. She lifted a handful of wires out of an electrical panel, carefully separated two of them, and slit the rest with a knife. Barton covered the door while she checked a few other areas, cutting wires and in one case, removing a computer chip and crushing it under her foot.

"Good to go," Erian said, and Barton moved into the hallway. She followed, and nearly ran into his back when he suddenly stopped moving.

"Ghostmaker," Barton said softly, "We have a bit of a problem."

Erian moved to stand barely an inch behind him, looking over his shoulder. Her dark eyes went wide.

"We most certainly do, Hawkeye," Erian agreed, and she smiled wickedly at the wall of heavily armed guards that were blocking the exit.


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello, all. Sorry I haven't updated - the internet was down. Anyway,**

**Enjoy!**

**K.S.**

Erian really, really needed to get used to fighting with a partner. Like, now. Before she got killed.

Because if she didn't remember that Barton was behind her, she was likely to knife him by mistake. And Erian was a bit busy to actively remember that he was there, so she had to figure out how to fight with a partner, instinctively, instantly.

It was a bit of a tall order for an assassin who had never had a partner before.

Barton put a hand on Erian's head and pushed her down out of his way, so he could shoot over her. She blinked, and got one with the business of killing guards before they killed her.

Erian buried a knife in the shoulder of a guard with an automatic weapon. She didn't bother to watch him fall – she was too busy. Barton was covering her back, which was nice, but Erian still had her fair share to do.

_I wouldn't want to do this alone._

She could have handled it – maybe. But Erian was glad she didn't have to find out.

She did, however, look up. It was probably a side effect of spending time around Barton that had made Erian realize that people didn't look up nearly often enough. And she was very, very glad she'd looked up just then.

"Hawk – exit!"

He followed her eyes to the ceiling, and grinned, shooting a guard in the throat without bothering to look. "Great, let's get out of here."

Ironically, it was an air duct that provided their exit route. But sadly, air ducts were not bulletproof, and they had to move _fast _to get out without getting shot.

Apparently, not fast enough.

Barton's voice was muffled when he cursed, and Erian's head whipped around to look at him as she crawled through the vent. He pressed one hand against his leg, and looked up at her. Barton shook his head, and mouthed, _It's nothing._

Erian turned her head back around and moved faster. Getting shot in the knee was not _nothing, _and her partner's macho act wasn't fooling her. Erian had been shot in almost that same place on her own body, and knew what it felt like.

Her mind went into overdrive, trying to figure out how she was going to get them both out when Barton would lose the ability to walk properly within ten minutes.

Somehow, Erian and Barton made it to the lobby. She found it rather odd that a hidden facility had a lobby, but corporate interests took no prisoners. Erian dropped out of the ceiling with knives in her hands and took out four guards in a handful of seconds.

Barton jumped down, and his leg buckled beneath him. Erian scanned the room one more time, and slid an arm around her partner. "Easy," she whispered. "Ready? Up," and lifted him to his feet. Barton didn't say anything, but Erian didn't like the color his face was turning. She glanced down at his leg, and pressed her lips together. Barton's pant leg was turning dark red where he'd been shot.

_Too much blood. Too fast. The bullet must have nicked an artery. I'll have to bind it. I'll have to find a place to hide us._

_ Blood . . . _

_ Focus, idiot! Survive now, feel guilty later!_

Erian supported Barton's limping stride as they left the building. Fortunately, he was still able to shoot, because one of Erian's throwing arms was busy holding him up – and there were a few more guards outside.

Even with a bullet in his knee, Barton was still faster at a distance than Erian would ever be. She led him into the trees, suddenly thankful for the foliage that had gotten in her way when she'd gotten off the jet.

_The jet. Shit!_

Erian glanced up at the stars, or the ones she could see through the trees, and counted hours.

_There's still time. Why didn't they give us radios for this one?_

It occurred to her then that SHIELD might have set them up.

_No. They wouldn't. Not Barton. Maybe even not me. But I know they wouldn't set up Barton. They need him._

_ Speaking of Barton . . ._

Erian searched her partner's face, and saw only pain. He wasn't hiding it well, even though he was obviously trying. There was sweat on his forehead, and his eyes were only half-open.

Barton was dragging his injured leg, as if he had lost control of it.

_Maybe he has._ Erian eased him to the ground, satisfied that they were far enough into the trees for the time being. Barton's eyes opened all the way, and he fixed his storm-colored gaze on her.

"Erian," he said, and she felt a chill go down her spine.

"What?" Erian ripped one of the sleeves off of her shirt and cut open the fabric around where Barton had been shot.

He didn't react, and he didn't say anything else. She glanced at him to make sure he hadn't passed out, but his eyes were still open. Barton just . . . sat there.

It was giving her the creeps.

Erian didn't have a way to rinse out the wound at the moment, so she settled for binding it, tying a knot in one end of the fabric and wrapping it tight. She tied the make-shift bandage into place, letting both knots apply pressure, and felt Barton make a small sound.

There was a blankness in his eyes that Erian knew too well. "_Hey!" _She slapped her partner in the face, and watched the light return to his empty gaze.

"Ow," Barton said, and frowned. "What was that for?"

"Drifting," Erian replied. "Focus. Stay here. I have no intention of lugging your corpse out of this hell-hole."

"Right," Barton said. "Staying awake now," and almost smiled.

Erian smiled back, but it wasn't a happy smile. It was built out of fear and panic and desperation, because she'd never had a partner to lose before, and she_ damn well wasn't losing Barton now._

"Good soldier," she said softly, and pulled him to his feet. "Let's go home."


	18. Chapter 18

The jet pilot's eyes bugged out of his head when Erian appeared out of the woods, carrying Barton on her back. The pilot stammered some sort of question that she didn't bother to listen to, and closed the hatch behind her.

Erian deposited Barton in a seat, strapped him in, and crouched to check on his knee. It had been two long hours since the first time she'd bandaged it – two long hours full of fighting and running and trying so hard to keep Barton awake.

It hadn't worked. He'd passed out somewhere around the third search party. Erian had delt with the enemy, and returned to where she'd stashed her partner, only to find him unconscious, and _still _bleeding.

She'd used her other sleeve to re-bandage the wound, and eventually the lower part of her shirt, as well, risking frostbite on her exposed skin. Erian had carried Barton for the last half hour, and was absolutely exhausted.

Erian strapped herself into the seat with weary motions, and closed her eyes as the jet roared away into the pre-dawn sky.

She'd done all she could. It was up to SHIELD now, and based on the _hell_ of a 'simple mission' they'd just put her and Barton through, Erian's faith was shaken – to say the least.

Erian fell asleep somewhere around thirty thousand feet above the night.


	19. Chapter 19

**Hi, everyone. Thank you for the lovely reviews to the last few chapters - I hate writing action scenes, so I really appreciate the kind words. Thanks.**

**General: I laughed so hard when I read your review. :)**

**Theta-McBride: You are my most consistent reviewer, and ****_you _****are awesome.**

**Shadow Felis: Thanks. I've written three different versions of Barton now, but this one is my favorite.**

**By the way, I know nothing about hospitals, having spent most of my time avoiding them, so don't blame me if I'm a bit off target in this chapter. I'm having so much fun with this story - it's the best stress relief ever, I just sit down and write a chapter or three, and I feel better when I'm done. I don't even have to think about it.**

**Enjoy!**

**K.S.**

Erian sat outside the med bay with her head down, breathing in the aroma of from the cup of tea she cradled between her palms. It was peach tea. Erian hated peaches, but it was all the medics had available.

She'd been lucky, or so they told her. Another ten minutes, and Erian would have had frostbite crawling all over her. The medics made it sound like some sort of parasite, like a swarm of ants that would cover her skin and eat her alive.

_Easy, Erian. They're just doing their jobs._

If Barton could see inside her head right now, he'd sit down next to her. He'd say something like, "Dark thoughts for such a pretty girl."

And Erian would look at him, and say, "Agent Barton, are you flirting with me?"

He'd grin, and say, "We're all affected by flattery, aren't we?" She'd probably have to smack him then, but maybe she wouldn't, just because.

Just because.

"Excuse me?"

Erian picked her head up and focused tired eyes on the head nurse. The woman's dust-colored hair was curling madly, spitting crooked ringlets in all directions. "You here for Barton?" the nurse asked.

Erian nodded, and didn't say anything.

The nurse had kind eyes behind her glasses, but there was guardedness in the set of her mouth, the story of too many lost soldiers who made it home for only a few hours. "He's all right," the woman said. "Stable. Can't take visitors, though. We're letting him sleep out the day." The nurse took a long look at Erian, and then smiled. It was a weary smile, but the first real one anybody but Barton had given to Erian since she set foot on the helicarrier.

"You should get some sleep, honey," the nurse said. "We've only got one check on him today, in about," she checked her watch, "An hour, maybe. That's so we know the medicine is working, and then we're going to let him sleep. You should get some rest as well. Maybe you can see him tonight, if he wakes up."

Erian watched the head nurse walk away, absently swirling her tea in the cup. The dark-eyed assassin glanced at the med bay doors, and then looked down at the tea she had no intention of drinking.

_About an hour . . ._

Almost an hour and a half later, Erian returned to the med bay, showered, but not rested. She waited until the the hall was clear of mid-morning traffic, flicking wet hair off her shoulders, and entered the security code into the electronic keypad on the doors. Erian wasn't supposed to know the code – but you couldn't expect the Ghostmaker to sit outside a secure door for hours on end and not figure out how to open it.

It took her a few minutes of dodging medical staff before she found Barton's room, but when she did, Erian's heart sank. He was out cold, with his knee heavily bandaged, and two different IVs in his arm.

Barton looked awful. Erian ducked through the curtains, pulled them closed behind her, and walked over to the hospital bed to look down at him. Her partner was muttering in his sleep, twitching, and as she watched, he cried out – making an awful, incoherent sound that hurt something inside her.

_ Damn nightmares._

Erian reached out and put her hand on Barton's shoulder, shaking him a little.

Barton's cloudy eyes flickered open, and he smiled weakly. "It's my guardian angel," he murmured. "Have you come to keep the demons away, Erian?"

She glanced down at the needles in his arm. _Must be something strong, _she thought.

Erian leaned down and gently kissed Barton's forehead. "Sure, Clint," she whispered, "I'll keep the demons away."


	20. Chapter 20

"So you're back on active duty?"

Barton stretched, glancing at the clock. "Yeah, as of tomorrow. I wanted back on duty last week, but no . . ."

Erian raised an eyebrow at him, leaning back into the couch. "It's only been a month. You had a bullet in your knee. What did you expect, a band-aid and a cookie?"

Barton grinned. "Not really. But it wouldn't have stopped you when you were freelancing, would it?"

She shook her head. "No, but when I was freelancing, I didn't have a partner to strap me to my hospital bed and tell me I was damn well staying put."

He laughed, and Erian smiled. It was barely a month since their last mission – what she had come to think of as _the debacle_ _in the dark. _Barton was back on his feet, and Erian was pleased to have successfully kept him from charging off to the target range when he was supposed to be resting. It hadn't been easy, but she'd managed.

And now he was cleared for active duty. Well, almost. Erian glanced up at the clock, and smiled again. Only fifteen minutes to tomorrow, and things would go back to normal.

It had made her nervous, having her partner incapacitated. Erian kept waiting for him to show up with a movie, or sit down at breakfast, or just be lurking around a corner. She knew, of course, that he was in med bay – but still. Eventually, she started visiting him daily, bringing movies or board games.

Erian wasn't used to being the domestic nurse type, but found she adjusted to it rather easily. She wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

Barton's attention was focused on the television – Erian couldn't even remember the name of the movie – but she could tell he wanted to ask her something. He wasn't fidgeting, not really, but his fingers kept twitching.

"Spit it out, Clint," she ordered, and he smiled.

"They sent you on solo missions, didn't they?" Barton asked.

Erian blinked. _Is that what's bothering him?_ "Yeah. But they were easy. Nothing to worry about."

He looked away. "I bet." There was a pause that made Erian feel like grabbing him by the hair and demanding _tell me what's bothering you already_, but eventually Barton added, "Is it easier working without a partner?"

_Oh. Oh! Now I get it._ Erian leaned forward and said firmly, "No. I got used to working with you, and it felt really, really awkward trying to do things solo. Now, I expect you to be fully mission ready tomorrow – _today, _because Fury's been muttering something about Indonesia, and I am not going anywhere near that mission without backup. Got it?"

Barton smiled a little. "Yeah. I got it. Thanks."

Erian almost asked _For what, _but decided she wasn't ready for quite that level of emotion with her partner. Or, maybe the problem was that she was. Erian closed her eyes for a moment and resisted the urge to find a convenient wall and bang her head against it.

_Partner. Get it together, girl. Focus. What part of off-limits, not to mention bad idea, do you not understand?_

Probably the part where they were curled up on the couch in her rooms, still watching old black-and-white movies after midnight. Probably the part where Barton's arm was around her shoulders. Probably the part where she was hoping he couldn't feel her racing heart.

Probably the part where almost losing him had made Erian re-think her priorities.

_But not tonight. Tonight . . . just be his partner. Just his partner. And hold on tight, because I almost didn't get him out of there. Remember this. You're going to want this later, I know you will._

Erian put her head on Barton's shoulder and closed her eyes. He didn't pull away, and he didn't pull her closer – just shifted a little to make her more comfortable. Erian smiled, and let herself fall asleep, knowing no nightmare would touch her.


	21. Chapter 21

**You guys are amazing. I have reviews on here maybe an hour after I post a new chapter . . . maybe an hour. I can't believe anyone likes my work this much. Now, if only I could write original ideas as well as I do fanfiction . . .**

**Hey, I'm not complaining.**

**But be warned, this chapter is a tad harsh. Well, Kirbee told me to make it tragic, so . . .**

**Enjoy!**

**K.S.**

Barton came to find Erian after Indonesia.

She hated Indonesia. Not that she'd known that before they went, but she knew it now, and promised herself she would never go back. Not ever.

It was the girl that broke Erian. The little red-head with blue eyes who had been standing on the street corner, the one holding the ragged teddy bear. The one who had been shot by their target as he fled the inevitable. The little girl with bright blue eyes that had slowly faded as she lay dying in a puddle of her own blood.

That's what had broken Erian. She'd held it together until they made it home, hung on to her shattered pieces and her ragged edges, and then when she closed the door behind her, she came apart entirely.

Barton found her on the flight deck, backed into the smallest possible gap between bulkheads. Erian had a knife in her hand, a small switchblade with a worn, tape-wrapped handle. She had a roll of masking tape with her, and was very slowly wrapping another layer of tape around the knife's handle, pausing occasionally to slit the tape so that the knife would be able to close.

Her eyes were shut, but they opened when Barton crouched down in front of her. He could see traces of tears on her face, and Erian's hands were shaking as they moved.

"Erian."

She didn't answer. She just kept wrapping tape around the knife's handle, not so much as to make it bulky, just enough to replace the worn out layers beneath. Maybe tape was all that held the handle together. Maybe denial was all that held her together.

"Erian."

_Stop saying my name._

"Erian, look at me."

She almost, _almost _killed him then. Almost lunged forward with the knife in her hand, almost buried the blade in his chest, almost ended his voice forever, almost made it the last time he would say her name.

Almost. _Almost._

Erian looked at Barton, and didn't say anything. He moved a little deeper into the tiny alcove, jamming himself in next to her. It really wasn't big enough for two people, but then, the lack of space forced her to acknowledge that someone else existed in her present – that there was more in the world than her past.

Barton said, "It's Kirbee, isn't it?" and she nearly slapped him. He did it on purpose, Erian knew he did. It was shock treatment, to get her to pay attention.

Which was the only reason she didn't slap him. If Barton had forgotten that he wasn't supposed to say that name, she would have hit him hard enough to put him back in the med bay.

But Erian just bowed her head and closed the knife, putting the tape away and holding on tight to the worn-out handle.

_I was just carrying it to look cool. To bring it out and flash it around for a few seconds, to go with the leather jacket and the tough talk and the cropped hair with the pink streak. I was a rebel. I was cool. I hung out with the senior boys, the motorcycle guys. I was just carrying it to look cool._

_ I was never going to use it. Never. I didn't even know if it was sharp. I bought it from a pawn shop. I had no idea that –_

_ That Kirbee –_

_ When she met me that night, she said she knew what I'd done. I knew that she knew. I knew that I couldn't let her tell. I had to have the lead, I had to –_

_ I didn't mean to –_

"I killed her, Clint," Erian whispered, and realized that she'd said it all out loud. She closed her eyes, and felt Barton pull her into him, felt him stroke her hair. Erian buried her face in his chest, and didn't cry.

"I killed her," she said again, voice muffled in his shirt. "I stabbed her. I didn't mean to. It was an accident. And there was blood, blood everywhere, all over her and the knife and _not a drop on me. _Not a single drop."

Barton made a sound in his throat, and Erian felt a sort of choking rising in her chest. She stammered out her words, panicked, needing to get the story out before it destroyed her.

"I – I knew what to do. I watched TV, after all. After all. I knew what to do. I took the knife. I'd been wrapping the handle with tape before she got there, because that's what the bad guys do, so there aren't fingerprints. I still had the tape. I wrapped up the handle, and I put the knife in my pocket and threw the tape in a dumpster. I ran. Clint, I _ran, _I left her there all alone, all alone in the meadow in the middle of the night, where anything could have happened to her –"

Erian made a sort of sobbing noise. "Nothing happened," she whispered. "Nothing happened. She was dead. Nothing happened to her. And I ran."

Barton said quietly, "You disappeared. Didn't they look for you?"  
She knew what he was doing. He wanted her to tell him all of it, to get it out of her, so it wouldn't fester. Like an infection. She had to get rid of it, all of it.

So she did.

"They did look. They looked for Erian Monroe."

Erian felt that sink into his mind, felt his arm tighten around her. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to."

Barton didn't say anything, and that made all the difference in the world.


	22. Chapter 22

**Hello, all. Thank you again to my fabulous readers, reviewers, and yes, even you lurkers who aren't reviewing.**

**General: Thank you. Do you know how long it's been since a compliment made me blush that hard? A ****_while!_**

**Well, I had trouble with this chapter. A lot of trouble. I re-wrote it a couple of times. But here it is.**

**Enjoy!**

**K.S.**

Erian didn't quite know what to do with herself after that. After . . . _that._ Telling Barton about Kirbee had been both liberating and horrifying.

It had scared her. Nothing had scared Erian in years, and years, and more years before that. She got worried, yes, like when she'd had to haul Barton out of that ambush mission – but never scared.

Well, she'd been scared. Now what?

Erian didn't know what to do now. She really didn't. Barton had held her until her breathing settled, and then he'd fished her out of her hiding place and made her go inside where it was warm. Erian hated being cold – _hated _it. But she kept finding herself in positions where she chose to be cold, and it was beginning to irritate her.

_You're distracting yourself. Focus._

_ There's nothing to focus on._

_ Then focus on deciding what to do now._

There were plenty of things for her to do, of course, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Erian couldn't decide what to do about Barton. She treasured the friendship they had, and recoiled from the thought of damaging their partnership.

And yet . . .

Erian closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the bathroom mirror. She sighed a little, and spat out the toothbrush she was supposed to be using. Somehow, no matter what she was _supposed _to be doing, Erian found herself thinking about Barton.

_Not a good idea. You're smarter than that. Smarter than this. You know better._

_ Better than what?_

Erian lifted her head off the mirror and looked herself in the eyes. "What the hell am I doing?" she asked, and received no answer.

She stared blankly at her reflection until her silent ruminating was interrupted by a scraping sound. Erian moved to the bathroom door, and raised an eyebrow as a ceiling tile slid aside, and Barton dropped down into her rooms.

He was holding a bouquet of roses in one hand, and the first word out of his mouth was, "Damn!"

Erian was silently, intensely proud of the fact that her voice did not shake as she said, "Clint? What are you doing?"

Barton glared at his hand, the one without the roses. He didn't look at Erian as he replied, "You were moping, so I brought you flowers. To make you feel better. Erian, how do you get this thing off?"  
Erian's eyes widened and she felt her sulky blues dissolve as she burst out laughing.

Clamped onto Barton's hand was a mousetrap.

She was laughing too hard to tell him how to get the mousetrap off, and had to lean against the wall as her shoulders shook. Barton frowned at her, waving his captive hand in the air. "I need these fingers! Fury's sending me to New Mexico in a few days, and I'd like to have the stupid thing off my hand by then, if you don't mind?"

Erian shook her head and peeled herself off the wall, still laughing as she gently removed the mousetrap from Barton's fingers. He raised his eyebrows at her and nodded, handing her the flowers with a theatrical flourish. "_Thank_ you!"

She smiled, and decided. _Not now. Maybe not ever. If he's going to New Mexico – he'll be back. I know he will. But I'll settle for friends._

_For now._

Erian looked down at the flowers in her hand, and said softly, "Thanks, Clint."

He didn't reply, and she looked up to see him grinning like the cat that ate the canary. For a moment her mind was blank – and then she looked at what else was in his hand.

"Clint – is that – what I think it is?" she managed.

"Yeah. One of the only recordings of the Broadway performance of The Phantom of the Opera, starring the original cast." Clint's smile was infectious, and Erian felt a sort of warmth spring to life inside her.

She'd never seen Barton look as surprised as he did when Erian hugged him. "I have been trying to find one of those recordings _forever! _Thank you!"

Erian let go of her partner, only to seize his arm and drag him over to the couch. "Sit. We're doing movie night. Now."

She could feel Barton smiling as she put the tape in the VCR. Erian practically flew back to the couch, and curled up next to him, sighing happily as he put his arm around her shoulders. Erian let her head rest on Barton's shoulder, and couldn't keep away her smile.

_Just friends, huh?  
Oh, shut up._


	23. Author's Note

**All right, readers, this is your courtesy notice: Ghostmaker is a complete story, for those of you who haven't noticed. I seem to have forgotten to mention that at the end of Chapter 22 (sorry!), but anyway, if you want to read more, go look at The Lost Ones. I kind of haven't updated The Lost Ones in several months, but I'm working on it. I'm also extremely busy this summer but I will get it updated as soon as humanly possible. This is just here because I've had a bunch of people ask me to continue Ghostmaker and I'm afraid I might be losing readers because The Lost Ones isn't terribly easy to find. So go read it! And thanks for sticking with me this long.**

**K.S.**


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